Spirit possession is easy to
remedy. Possession of the heart is another matter.

After vicar’s widow and natural
medium Barbara Darke loses her respectable teaching position, she reluctantly
agrees to become companion to her former pupil Emily, now the bride of young
Sir Arthur Haggard.

Once settled at Haggard Hall,
Barbara finds her friend is beset by ghostly voices and unexplained deaths. In
a maelstrom of dark spirits and wicked emotions, Barbara battles to lay Emily’s
ghosts to rest—both hampered and helped by Arthur’s skeptical cousin Patrick,
who provokes and attracts her in equal measure.

It would be a mistake to trust a
secretive, guilt-ridden man suspected of driving his wife to suicide, if not
outright murdering her. And it could well be lethal to give in to her own
desires, confused as they often are with the lusts of the dead.

But Arthur and Emily are in
genuine physical danger, and suspicion is falling closer and closer to Patrick—the
man who haunts Barbara’s sensual dreams. The man who stands to inherit Haggard
Hall.

Warning: Contains a medium whose
body is open season for spirit possession, and a scandal-ridden journalist who
only believes what he can see—and touch.

Marie Treanor lives in Scotland,
in a chaotic house by the sea, together with her eccentric husband, three much
too smart children and a small dog who rules them all. Most days, she avoids
both housekeeping and evil day jobs by writing stories of paranormal romance
and fantasy.

Marie is the award winning author
of over forty sexy paranormal romances - Indie, New York and E-published.

Emily broke off, clutching my arm as lightning flashed
through several windows at once, followed almost immediately by a deafening
clap of thunder that seemed to roll right over the roof.

At the same time, a rush of air
chilled my scalp, stirring my hair, and several candles in the hall blew out at
once, leaving only the dim light from two wall lamps.

Emily’s eyes widened and her mouth opened and
closed soundlessly before she managed to say, “That shouldn’t happen, Barbara.
You know it—”

As the thunder began to die away, something
crashed into the front door opposite us, making us both jump and Emily squeal.

“What’s that?” she whispered in panic.

“It sounds like someone knocking on the door,” I
said as calmly as I could.

“Why don’t they ring the bell?” she countered as
the banging went on.

I thought about it. “Maybe the bell is broken,
which is why the servants don’t hear.” I began to walk across the hall with
Emily dangling from my elbow, trying to hold me back. I paused and stared at
her. “What? Do you think it’s some evil spirit knocking on the door to get out
of the rain?”

She blinked, gave a half laugh, and released my
elbow, although she scurried after me the rest of the way to the door. I
struggled with the heavy latch, and then, as soon as I began to draw the door
back, the wind whipped it out of my hand and blasted me backwards.

At the same time, lightning forked across the
sky, flashing over the grim, angular face of a large, soaking-wet man, all
hollow cheeks and hard eyes that showed amber like a wolf’s.

Emily let out a cry and fell back, clutching me
around the waist as the stranger, water running off him like a fresh shower,
strode into the house and forced the door shut once more.

Only, of course, he wasn’t a stranger. My hand
crept up over my heart to my throat.

Arthur bolted out of the dining room above, no
doubt to see why his wife had screamed, Bela Hiranyi and Henry Faversham at his
heels. Arthur was scowling over the banister with concern, until he caught
sight of his visitor, when his face relaxed into a grin, and he rushed

downstairs.

“Patrick!” he exclaimed, pushing right past us
and holding out an eager hand. “We didn’t expect you!”

“Apparently not,” Patrick said dryly.

My worst fears were realized. Arthur’s cousin
and unofficial guardian was indeed the man who’d witnessed my mother’s séance
so contemptuously the night before I left London. His name was just as my
mother had said.

But more than that, something in the way the
rain rolled off his soaked person made me think of the agonized man I’d seen
crouching in the storm. He carried his torment with him, like an echo which
bounced between us.